Little Girl Lost
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Another royal seeks refuge and answers on Fantasy Island, but may not get what she wants. Follows 'Someday My Prince'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Another one to be posted in bits—this time because of computer problems. I'm grateful for everyone's patience and interest in the storyline, and will try my best to get the whole thing posted as soon as I can. Happy reading!_  
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§ § § -- December 25, 1999

It was a strange feeling to be coming down the stairs on a Saturday morning and not promptly heading out to meet the plane: but it was Christmas Day, and this weekend's guests would not arrive till one o'clock that afternoon, so that those who normally worked on Saturdays could have the morning to spend with their families. At the same time, it gave Roarke and Leslie a chance to celebrate their own Christmas.

They had given each other only two or three gifts apiece this year, as they usually did; most of the remaining presents beneath the tree were for Leslie, from her friends. The other four were from Rogan and Julie, who had each bought a gift for Roarke and one for Leslie as well. A few days before, Leslie had dropped off gifts for Rogan, Julie and their five-week-old son Rory on a routine run to the B&B.

Once they had opened presents, father and daughter looked at each other while they listened to the grandfather clock chiming nine. "We have several hours before the guests arrive," Roarke noted, "and none of the kitchen staff will be here till noon. Are you hungry yet, or would you rather wait?"

Leslie shrugged. "Depends on what you want, really. Do you have something that has to be done, holiday or not?"

"Not exactly," said Roarke, and his eyes took on a teasing sparkle. "I only thought you might wish to send Christian your holiday greetings."

Leslie peered at him for a moment, then laughed. "For Christian it's still Christmas Eve," she pointed out. "Anyway, we've already sent each other cards. Ten to one he's having a white Christmas."

Roarke shook his head. "Ah, Leslie, my dear daughter, you spoiled it yet again, after all. Though I will admit to being impressed that you made it all the way to Christmas Day itself before mentioning snow."

"All right, Father," Leslie said with mock threat, and they both laughed. "Come to think of it, I'm famished. I hope Mariki left some of her wonderful cinnamon French toast before she went home last night."

Their morning was leisurely, compensating for their light, brisk lunch before going to meet the early-afternoon plane. This weekend, in fact, there was only one fantasy: on the island, Christmas was usually the calm before the New Year's storm, and they knew that this year that "storm" would be of hurricane proportions. So it was actually a surprise to both of them that there were any fantasies at all. They had merely expected to welcome a few well-known personages who wanted a quiet holiday on the island.

Thus Roarke's startled disbelief, almost as great as Leslie's, when a heavily-bundled-up female figure got out of the hatch and started down the dock. "This is most unexpected," he said, watching the new arrival with wide eyes. "I thought she had changed her mind."

"About what?" Leslie asked. "She must be roasting in that getup, and from the way she's covered her hair and her face, anyone can see she's trying to disguise herself."

"Very good, Leslie," Roarke said. "The lady has asked me not to reveal her identity until she has a chance to speak privately with us at the main house. Until then, I am afraid I can't satisfy your curiosity."

Leslie eyed the newcomer speculatively. "Then I vote we wait for her and drive her back home with us," she said decisively. Roarke grinned at that, then toasted their new guest, who merely nodded back. She hadn't even taken a beverage, Leslie realized—she was apparently that fanatical about maintaining her cover!

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie's suggestion notwithstanding, they allowed their mysterious guest to repair to a bungalow long enough to drop off her luggage at least. When she did appear at the main house, she was still wearing her heavy coat, boots, gloves, hat that concealed every last strand of hair, and scarf wound around her face so that only her eyes could be seen. Those eyes were a clear blue color; they widened at sight of the elegant but homey Christmas tree next to the tea table beside the staircase before focusing on Leslie.

"Make yourself at home, please," Roarke invited, gesturing at a chair. "And you need not fear detection; this is my domain, and your privacy is assured."

Their visitor's regard shifted to him as if startled there; she seemed reluctant at first, then nodded a couple of times and began to unwind the scarf. At the same time she pulled off her hat, letting a cascade of caramel-colored hair tumble free. Once the scarf was off, she gave a shy but engaging smile that incited a sense of déjà vu in Leslie. "Thank you for giving me sanctuary, Mr. Roarke," she said, her voice clear and softly accented.

Leslie stared hard at her. "I should know you, shouldn't I?"

"I suppose you should," the young woman said a little sheepishly. "It won't be long before you realize who I am anyway, so I may as well tell you. My name is Anna-Kristina Enstad. You must be the lady my Uncle Christian is so in love with."

"Christian's niece!" Leslie exclaimed, astonished. She sat up straight with hope in her eyes. "Is he with you, or will he be here later, maybe?"

Anna-Kristina smiled sympathetically. "No…as a matter of fact, he doesn't know I am here. None of my family knows." Her face took on an anxious expression and she looked at Roarke. "I desperately needed to get away, and none of them would have understood my reasons—certainly not my parents, in any case."

Roarke settled down behind the desk as if preparing for a long siege. "Before I begin," he said, "first, how would you prefer us to address you while you are here?"

The young woman sighed softly. "I thought it would be obvious, Mr. Roarke," she said, "but I suppose you'd like to make it official." She smiled to temper the comment, and he nodded, his eyes warm. "Please, both of you, just call me Anna-Kristina. No 'Miss Enstad', no 'madam', and absolutely no 'Your Highness' or 'Princess'!"

"So it shall be, then," Roarke said serenely and leaned back a little in his chair. "As I'm sure you recall, you were very cryptic in your note. You said only that you wished to find some sanctuary here. Now that you've arrived, perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten us about your reasons?"

Anna-Kristina removed her coat and sat in the last chair, folding the heavy winter garment in her lap and glancing a bit skittishly at Roarke before focusing on Leslie. "This should sound familiar to you," she said with heavy irony. "My father—whom you know as the king of Lilla Jordsö—wants to marry me off. My younger sister Gabriella was married this past February, and I think Pappa has the notion that it's past time the heir to the throne was wed as well. He's already picked out my future husband."

"Oh Lord," groaned Leslie, meeting Roarke's glance. "That man seems to have a thing about arranged marriages!"

"He does, believe me. He chose Gabriella's husband, and no doubt he's already looking for our little sister Margareta's as well. Unfortunately, he's not very good at it. I've had several dates with this man I'm supposed to marry, and I want nothing to do with him. He's verbally abusive and an unbelievable perfectionist. Nothing I could do or say was right. If I have to marry that man, I'll kill myself." Roarke's eyes narrowed at this statement and Leslie bit her lip; but Anna-Kristina seemed not to notice. "I want out of this arranged marriage. It's only a guaranteed disaster in the making.

"Then there's the throne. Frankly, I don't want it. It's been drummed into my head all my life that I'll have a great responsibility when I'm queen, and I'll be under a permanent spotlight, and so on, and so on. Leslie, I don't know how much you know about me, but I can tell you this much. Uncle Christian has always called me a free spirit, and in fact he and I are very close because we have so much in common. I think I take much more after him than either of my parents. In any case…the more I think about it, the less I want to be queen. I don't see it as a birthright; I see it as a family curse that's about to be visited upon me. Gabriella's much more suited to the position and I'd far rather give it to her. The only reason I'm first in line to the throne and she's second is that I was born first."

"There must be something really repulsive about ruling a country," Leslie remarked humorously to Roarke. "First Michiko didn't want to be queen, now Anna-Kristina."

Roarke laughed. "Indeed! Well, Anna-Kristina, surely these aren't such difficult problems to solve. You need only present them to your father, I should think."

"It's not that simple," Leslie said. "I've never met the king, but from everything Christian has ever said about him, he's implacable."

Anna-Kristina nodded vigorously. "When my father's made up his mind, nothing can change it—_nothing._ I need to bring this to another authority."

Roarke cleared his throat and said gently, "As much as I hate to disappoint you, my dear Anna-Kristina, I'm afraid I am not that authority. I have no official jurisdiction anywhere but here, on my own territory. Perhaps your mother could intercede for you, if you spoke with her; but my hands are tied here."

Anna-Kristina blew out her breath and nodded slowly. "I think I knew that, but I had to try anyway. Well, but there's one other thing, and I know you're the only one who has any answers for me." She faced Roarke squarely and announced, "I want to end, once and for all, the need for me to ingest amakarna to maintain my health."

Leslie's eyes widened; Roarke sat up and leaned over the desk, regarding Anna-Kristina intently. "Tell me, before I continue, how much you know about amakarna."

"More than I did before Uncle Christian's marriage," Anna-Kristina said grimly. "All my life I've eaten the stuff. As a child I took it for granted; it was always there, and it tasted good. My father downplayed our need for it when I was a teenager and asked him why no one in the family except him, Mamma, my sisters and I ever ate it, and said it was because we were royalty—and not just royalty, but that part of it directly in line for the throne. Since my uncles, aunts and cousins wouldn't inherit the crown, they didn't take it. You see, Mr. Roarke, my father made it seem like a great and rare privilege.

"But then I got the full story after Uncle Christian came back home to announce his engagement to you, Leslie, and discovered that he'd been shackled to Marina. I was in the room when Pappa told Uncle Christian he'd married him to Marina by proxy while he was here. Never in my life have I seen Uncle Christian so angry. He changed that day; he doesn't smile much anymore and he's much less open to people than he used to be. I didn't understand, and when Pappa told me to go and bring Marina back, I decided to ask her what was really going on. Marina explained everything to me then, and I realized at that moment that amakarna is no privilege at all—rather, it's an albatross." Anna-Kristina stared pleadingly at Roarke. "I understand Marina is of your people…something Uncle Christian mentioned once not so long ago. So you would know what to do. How do I eliminate my body's dependence on amakarna for my very life?"

Roarke broke his gaze and slowly sat back again, closing his eyes for a long moment. "It's not possible," he said quietly, after at least a full minute had passed.

"I don't understand," the princess protested.

"Amakarna is a very peculiar substance," Roarke began, "and has a highly addictive property. It's classified and usually used as a spice, but in actual fact it's a mineral. My own family finally phased out its need for amakarna, but there are others who still depend on it for their very survival."

"I don't think I get it, Father," Leslie said then, very curious. "If your people need it to survive, then why don't you?"

Roarke split his attention between her and Anna-Kristina. "Because an individual's need for amakarna is determined in his or her infancy. In my people, it's determined by genetics; and most have a gene that is programmed to require amakarna for life sustenance, much as human beings need calcium, iron, and various vitamins and minerals to maintain good health. If a child is born of parents who have a very rare mutation of this gene, that child will be free of the need for the spice. He can ingest it with no ill effects, but it's not vital to his health. For this to happen, both parents must have the mutated gene: and both of mine did."

"My God," said Leslie, astonished. "Then that must make you an incredible rarity."

Roarke nodded and confirmed, "It does indeed. In any case, within my people, there is no real control over the need for the spice, or the lack of need. In human beings, it's very much a different story. Not many terrestrial human beings can tolerate amakarna; but this, I think, is primarily because most of them first sample it as adults or older children. One of amakarna's greatest peculiarities is the fact that human infants can easily ingest it without any negative effects whatsoever. Unfortunately, the catch to this is that the infants very quickly develop a lifelong dependence on the spice. If it's given to a baby more than two or three times, the infant will need it for the rest of its natural life." He hesitated a bare second before focusing fully on Anna-Kristina. "While I don't know how the custom of adding amakarna to your family's diet began, I do know this: your parents, for whatever reasons, deliberately gave it to you and your sisters as infants. Had they not, you would never have developed the permanent need that you now have. Once a human child passes its first birthday, amakarna loses its addictive effect, though said child will probably never be able to tolerate it again."

Anna-Kristina was very pale. "So," she said slowly, "my parents hooked us on it as infants, just as if it were a drug."

"Yes," said Roarke, "although I hasten to assure you, amakarna in its natural form is not a drug. It has many health benefits, including several that are markedly unusual for earth humans. As you undoubtedly know, it can be turned _into_ a drug, but in itself it causes no harm in those who have the tolerance."

"It hardly matters," Anna-Kristina said. "You're telling me that I can never eliminate my dependence on amakarna, correct?"

Roarke nodded gravely. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So there's really nothing at all you can do for me, then," Anna-Kristina said, her face a mask of rigid control that reminded Leslie of Christian's expression the day Arnulf had announced his marriage to Marina on television.

"I have no control over your need for amakarna, Anna-Kristina," Roarke said gently, "but I would like to know a little more about your reasons for wishing to abdicate the throne and refusing your father's choice of husband for you. Perhaps, as Christian did, you have fallen in love with someone else?"

She shook her head. "No, it isn't that—as I said, it's the man's abusive nature. And I truly don't think I was ever really suited to take the crown. My sister Gabriella would be the perfect choice. She has the disposition and the nature, and believe me, she definitely has the desire. As children we fought over it a great deal. Back then I was proprietary about it, since it seemed such a great gift. Now, knowing what I do, I'd rather let her be queen."

Roarke nodded, looking contemplative. "So there are good reasons—believe me, I understand very well, Anna-Kristina." He came to, as if snapping out of a reverie, and smiled. "While there is very little I can do for you regarding your requests, I do have the power to give you this. As long as you are here on Fantasy Island, you will have the freedom to move around unmolested. I guarantee you that you can do anything you wish, as an ordinary guest, and you will not be bothered. I'll see to it myself."

Anna-Kristina returned his smile, looking delighted. "That would be wonderful, thank you, Mr. Roarke. In that case, perhaps if you're not too busy, I could borrow Leslie for the day."

"I'd actually like to be borrowed," Leslie put in, "since I have questions for Anna-Kristina."

Roarke laughed and remarked, "I'm sure you do! Well, this being Christmas, we are very slow; in fact, if you stay long enough, you'll find that New Year's Eve is much more hectic here. So I see no reason Leslie can't accompany you around the island for the day. I would ask that you return for dinner; you are invited, Anna-Kristina, and if it's agreeable, I'll notify Mariki to serve the meal at six."

Anna-Kristina lit up. "Uncle Christian told me about your Mariki's cooking! I'll be delighted to have dinner here—thank you so very much, Mr. Roarke, for everything."

"You're very welcome," Roarke replied warmly. "Enjoy your day."

"I'll have her back here by quarter till six," Leslie promised, and at Roarke's nod of agreement the two women bid him goodbye and departed. Roarke gazed after them for a moment, then allowed himself the luxury of a long, fortifying sigh before rising and going to the computer.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- December 25, 1999

Half an hour later in the main room of the Lilac Bungalow, after Anna-Kristina had finally changed into clothing more suitable to the climate, she and Leslie settled into the plush chairs there and began to get to know each other a bit. They exchanged vital statistics at first, and Anna-Kristina asked for a condensed version of Leslie's history; then a momentary lull fell and Leslie saw her chance. "I don't want you to think I'm being rude or anything," she said, "but I'm afraid those questions I have for you are about Christian!"

Anna-Kristina laughed heartily. "Of course they are—if they weren't, I'd be wondering about you! Tell me what you want to know, and I'll do my best to answer."

"Okay." Leslie shifted in her chair, tucking one foot underneath her. "You said Christian changed after his marriage—that he's less open around people. What did you mean, exactly?"

"He's different in temperament," said Anna-Kristina. "I don't think it's depression, but he's more…grim, I suppose. From my earliest days I can remember the media calling Uncle Christian 'the happy prince'. My father's always been dour…probably because he has the kingly duties to worry about. And my uncle Carl Johan and aunt Anna-Laura are rather aloof—not so sour-faced or cool as Pappa, but not very reachable either. Uncle Christian is the youngest, and he had the fewest burdens, I think. The family has been compared in our media with the British royals—Pappa and Uncle Carl Johan and Aunt Anna-Laura were like Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip and Prince Charles, in their cool remoteness and distance from their subjects. Uncle Christian, on the other hand, has the 'magic touch'. He's warm and giving and has the gift of connecting to the common people, like Princess Diana did."

Leslie nodded comprehension, fascinated. "And now he isn't like that anymore?"

"Right," said Anna-Kristina, with a small, regretful sigh. "When Pappa pushed him and Marina together, Leslie, all the light went out of him. He and Marina are friends, but only to ease their living situation. If it weren't for the fact that Pappa and her father forced the union, I don't think they'd ever have anything to do with each other. They just have nothing in common. Now I think he doesn't trust so much anymore. Uncle Christian is no longer the happy prince, and I miss the uncle I always knew."

Leslie was perplexed. "I've never seen him like that."

"Oh, Leslie, don't you see?" asked Anna-Kristina with gentle amusement. "It's because he loves you so. It's the only time he comes back to life, when he talks about you. You make him happy, much more like his old self. It almost makes me wish he were here now, so that he could be warm and open again, as I've always known him."

"You _almost_ wish?" Leslie teased her.

Anna-Kristina's sheepish shrug made them both laugh. "Yes, 'almost', only because he has no more idea of my whereabouts than the rest of my family. I suspect he'd be upset with me, but in the end I'd rather face Uncle Christian's anger than Pappa's. The only person who can get around Pappa at all is Marina. He thinks the world of her. She goes to Italy quite frequently, you know—she always tells him it's to visit her father, and he falls for it every time. But I know she goes to see the man she loves, every bit as much as to see the count, and I sometimes think Pappa would still let her go even if he knew about it."

"Interesting," commented Leslie.

"That's a good word for it," Anna-Kristina agreed. "It's been three years and Pappa's starting to worry because there aren't any children. Of course, he puts all the blame on Uncle Christian for that."

"Naturally," Leslie muttered, scowling. "Really, Anna-Kristina, does your father hate his own brother that much?"

Uncomfortably Anna-Kristina said, "I don't think Pappa _hates_ him, Leslie. I mean, they are brothers. It's only that being king is a heavy burden, and Pappa has the autocratic personality that usually comes with being ruler…and he's used to having his own way. I think, ever since my grandparents died, he's felt it's his right to order Uncle Christian around." She smiled slightly. "And oh dear, how Uncle Christian hates it. His whole life is under my father's control. It has been for years, but Pappa used a light touch till Marina came of age and her father forced that marriage contract. Now Pappa steers Uncle Christian's life with an iron hand. I so wish something would change, because one day Uncle Christian will be so bitter that he'll never be able to return to his old self—maybe not even with you."

Leslie felt her eyes stinging, and tears welled up on Christian's behalf. "Oh, Anna-Kristina, I wish you'd told him you were coming here. I think he'd have enjoyed being in on your plans." She jumped out of the chair, visited by a surge of restless, impatient energy. "I hate this situation, more than you can know. It drives me insane that nothing can be done to change it!" She cast the wide-eyed princess a faintly guilty look. "Sometimes I think it's hopeless, that there's no way we can ever be together…but I never let myself entertain that thought for long. I can't bear the idea of never seeing Christian again, of never being able to make a life with him. Yet I don't know how much more I can take."

"That's why I hoped Mr. Roarke could help," Anna-Kristina said earnestly, sitting up straight. "I thought he'd have the answers—I thought he could rid me of the need for amakarna to live, and I could take the solution home to my father and sisters, and end our ties to that business contract with the count. And then he'd have no way to hold either Marina or Christian—we'd _all_ be set free."

Helplessly Leslie and Anna-Kristina stared at each other, both through a haze of tears; then Anna-Kristina erupted out of her chair and hugged Leslie hard. "You should be my aunt, not Marina," she said thickly. "Don't misunderstand me—I like Marina, but she isn't the right one for Uncle Christian. _You_ are, and it's so wrong that this whole situation even exists."

Unable to speak, Leslie returned Anna-Kristina's hug in equal measure. It took her a minute to get enough control over her emotions to say anything; then she cleared her throat and stepped back. "Before we waste the whole day fuming over what we can't change, let's get out there and have some fun. You should see the island, so I'm going to give you the grand tour. Come with me."

‡ ‡ ‡

As it happened, the two got hung up at the amusement park, once they reached that part of the island and Anna-Kristina confessed that she had always wanted to visit such a place but had never had the opportunity due to her position. So Leslie parked the jeep right then and there, and that was where they spent the next four hours or so. They had such a ball that they were nearly late returning to the main house for supper, which they spent telling Roarke about their afternoon. Mostly the conversation was dominated by Anna-Kristina, who was in a state of high excitement over the experience and couldn't stop exclaiming over all the things she had seen and done.

The following day they resumed their sightseeing tour, and Leslie thought it might be a good idea to have Anna-Kristina connect with some of the locals. She knew that Anna-Kristina had been groomed to assume the throne all her life, and as a result had probably been quite sheltered by her parents. She seemed to have the idea that the man in the street had an easy, problem-free life; and Leslie felt Anna-Kristina could only benefit from learning differently, for it might help her to establish a stronger and warmer connection with her own people back home, even before she took over the throne.

So they stopped at the casino, where Anna-Kristina marveled at some of the games—though Leslie noticed she never batted an eyelash at the vast amounts some of the wealthier guests had been losing that day! True to Roarke's promise of the day before, no one seemed to recognize Anna-Kristina for who she was; if they did, they never let on. Anna-Kristina spoke with the blackjack dealer and one of the cashiers, who told her they enjoyed their jobs and earned some fairly decent money. They greeted Leslie with some deference, but always with open, friendly smiles and genuine affection, as they would have with Roarke.

"I think you have the 'magic touch' too, Leslie," Anna-Kristina observed as they left the casino. "Everyone here seems to like you very much. Where are we going now?"

"The fishing village," Leslie said. "I should probably warn you, this may come as something of a culture shock to you. The village is fairly remote and not easy to get to. The residents have only recently had running water and electricity installed, and not all of them can afford it, either. Their lives are very simple and very basic. As a matter of fact, they generally aren't much aware of the business we conduct on our end of the island. They know who Father is, and they do have a business deal with him to provide seafood for the hotel and the restaurant. But they don't venture much beyond the village, except for a few who are directly in Father's employ. They're quite friendly and cheerful, and they'll probably welcome a chance to talk to you if you show interest in their way of life."

"Basic and simple?" Anna-Kristina said, intrigued. "It sounds like heaven. No worries about everyday modern inconveniences that we often curse because they don't work half the time. No bills, no taxes…"

Leslie grinned to herself and kept her own counsel. She had someone in mind for Anna-Kristina to talk to, and she could hardly wait to find out what the result would be.

It took them nearly half an hour to get to the fishing village; Leslie parked the jeep in the parking lot of a small seedy bar, which at the moment was closed for business, and instructed Anna-Kristina to remove her shoes and leave them in the vehicle. The very curious princess eagerly followed Leslie down a short trail that wound through jungle so dense it shut out nearly all sunlight. She was quite surprised when they abruptly emerged onto a beach and had to stop long enough to let her eyes readjust to the bright sun once more. Leslie chuckled and led her along the sand to a large grass hut that was clearly in sore need of repair. "Now here's someone you should find very, very interesting. Let's see if he's home and feels like having visitors."

While Anna-Kristina watched, Leslie taped on one of the aging palm-wood supports of the grass hut. "Is anyone home?" she called out.

"Leslie girl, that's you?" questioned a voice from inside.

"That's me," Leslie replied, grinning. "I've brought a friend."

"Come in then," came the reply, and Leslie pushed aside an ancient curtain covered with garish brown, yellow and orange flowers that might have been in fashion in the 1970s so that she could step into the hut. She held the curtain aside for Anna-Kristina to come in, then turned to the large old Polynesian man who sat in a corner puffing on a large old pipe.

"Afternoon, Bond," she said.

"Afternoon, Leslie girl. How's Mr. Roarke?" A cloud of smoke drifted into the air.

"Very well, thanks. You're well, I hope," said Leslie and settled into a rickety-looking chair near the old fellow. "Bond, meet Miss Anna-Kristina Enstad—she's visiting for a little while. Anna-Kristina, this is Bond, the village elder."

"I'm happy to meet you," said Anna-Kristina gamely. "Bond, is it?"

"Needed a name the newcomers could pronounce, and that was as good a one as any," replied Bond matter-of-factly. "Have a seat, young one. It's been some time, Leslie girl, you've been scarce."

"We've been busy," Leslie told him. "Fishing's good?"

Bond blew a smoke ring in Anna-Kristina's direction. "As ever. We make the ancient gods happy, they bless these waters. We step straight and remember the old ways, the gods provide." He eyed Anna-Kristina. "You have questions."

She looked surprised; Leslie smiled and nodded at her to go ahead. "I just thought that it seems so lovely here, so peaceful and unspoiled—how can there be any better place to live? And yet you worry about pleasing the…the gods?"

"Discipline," Bond said. "Have to keep order—now especially, when the outside world presses further in on us. My day, they wanted movies. My son's day, they wanted television. My grandchildren want videotapes and Atari games. Who's Atari and why doesn't he do something worthwhile?"

"It's only fun," said Anna-Kristina. "And Atari games are history anyway…"

"Good," interrupted Bond firmly. "They should stay that way. Never satisfied, these children. They're looking to see other islands, Leslie girl. The sun rises and they want to see where it rises from. Seagulls soar out over the ocean and they want to follow them. Stranger with odd manners and peculiar speech come, and they want to know about the places they come from and to see them for themselves." He blinked at Anna-Kristina, as if only just noticing her light complexion and Caucasian features. "You're no local."

The princess blushed. "No…"

"Bond, be nice," Leslie scolded, grinning again.

Bond waved his pipe dismissively at her. "It's only that the children are needed here. They all want to leave—the village is dying and they don't care. They want 'adventures'."

"I couldn't imagine leaving such an idyllic place as this," said Anna-Kristina. "I'd stay if I could."

Bond let out a gusty sigh, expelling smoke as he did. "It's a hard life here," he admitted, "and not many jobs. Only the fishing, really. Most of the young ones don't want to spend their lives rising at dawn, fishing all day and retiring at dusk. Who can blame them? But they're not prepared for the outside world. They go to the island high school and suddenly new vistas open up. They get restless, and the fishing village can't contain them anymore." He shot Leslie an ironic look. "Soon our young ones will be replaced by foolish beachcombers from out there, who think we merely lie in the sun all day and eat coconuts. They soon learn differently. They can't live without autos and telephones and shoes."

"How hard is it to fish?" asked Anna-Kristina skeptically.

Bond studied her; a slow grin spread over his face and he knocked ashy tobacco out of the dying pipe. "So glad you asked," he said. "Leslie girl, you might want to come along with us, in case she needs rescuing."

Before she quite knew it, Anna-Kristina was knee-deep in the ocean with a group of young native men, dragging a massive fishing net through the shallows, wading farther out from time to time in search of more fish, and getting thoroughly soaked and salt-encrusted. It was clear by the time she stumbled out of the water that she was exhausted and quite subdued. Leslie bid the villagers farewell and led Anna-Kristina back through the jungle till they'd reached the jeep.

"What'd you think?" Leslie asked on the way up the Ring Road.

Anna-Kristina sighed and confessed, "Well, I suppose I won't go into professional fishing anyhow." Leslie laughed, and the princess slumped tiredly in her seat. "I had no idea how difficult it is to make a living, even in the simplest way of life. If just fishing is so wearying, imagine making all your own clothing, hunting or gathering or growing your own food, building your own home out of whatever materials are at hand…"

"So the simple life isn't quite so simple," summarized Leslie.

Anna-Kristina shook her head. "No—but mind you, I still don't want the throne or to be married to that beast Asgar. I guess you think I'm only romanticizing a different set of problems. But they still seem so much more bearable."

Leslie smiled and said, "Well, you should still take it up with your father, but if you don't think you can face him yet, you can at least stay the week and be part of our big New Year's party. We have a giant special luau every year, but since it's going to be the year 2000 in the next few days, this year's party will eclipse all the others we've ever had."

"I can't wait," said Anna-Kristina. "A party with happy people sounds like exactly the sort of thing I need."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- December 27, 1999

Roarke gave Leslie a package and checked his gold pocket watch. "The ten-o'clock charter will be landing shortly, so if you leave right now you should be in plenty of time to meet it. The courier is in a hurry, which means you'll have to meet him coming off the dock and hand that parcel directly to him. He'll be leaving immediately as soon as the last arrival has disembarked and all the departures are on board."

"Don't worry, Father, I'll see that it gets out pronto," said Leslie indulgently. "I've come a long way since my klutzy beginnings here twenty years ago."

Roarke laughed and agreed, "So you have. Very well, then, drive carefully."

Several minutes later Leslie parked the station wagon at the clearing and strolled across the lush green grass toward the dock; the seaplane rounded the curve in the lagoon as she did so and shortly was moored to the dock. The courier from Honolulu was the first to deplane, and as several other new arrivals made their way off one by one, she gave him the package and accepted a receipt marking the time of dispatch. Thanking her, the courier returned up the dock, and Leslie started back for the car, going over the day's agenda in her head. As usual, Monday was cleanup day, and it would be especially quiet this week.

"Hey, lady," a male voice called out from behind her, "can I hitch a ride?"

Leslie stopped short, her eyes widening in disbelief; then she turned around and stared at the tall man carrying a suitcase down the dock. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped. "Christian!" she shrieked and bounded across the grass.

Christian let the suitcase fall and caught her in his arms, his eyes alight. They hugged each other hard for a long moment before she pulled back to gaze at him. "What are you doing here?" Leslie exclaimed joyfully.

Christian grinned at her, holding her securely against him. "Your father quietly alerted me that Anna-Kristina had come here," he explained. "Only Marina knows I'm here, and she created the wildest cover story I ever heard to convince Arnulf that I needed to rescue my niece from some frightful, gruesome fate." They both laughed, and he gathered her in even closer. "I'm so very glad to see you, my Leslie Rose. This whole trip, I could think only of how it would feel to hold you and kiss you again."

"What? No worries over your niece?" Leslie teased.

Christian shrugged unconcernedly. "Once I learned she was here, I knew I had nothing to worry about—so I merely let myself dream of you." He dipped his head and kissed her then, shutting out everything around them while the charter plane coughed to life and taxied back through the lagoon.

Half dazed, Leslie stared up at him when he let go and sighed softly. "You can still knock me for a loop with just a kiss," she murmured.

Christian closed his eyes and swallowed audibly. "It only makes me want you so badly it's unbearable," he admitted. "Before I lose control, my darling, maybe you'd better take me to see Anna-Kristina."

Leslie hesitated briefly, tempted almost beyond saving to kiss him and let him do as he would; then she gathered control at the last second and sighed. "Can they arrest you for bigamy if you never leave this island again?" she muttered.

"Your father would gladly extradite me, I'm sure," kidded Christian, which made her burst out laughing. He joined in, then hefted up his suitcase and caught her hand in his free one, firmly interlacing his fingers with hers. "Well, so fill me in. Did Anna-Kristina enlighten you as to her reasons for running away from home? Arnulf is furious, and Kristina is merely frantic. The others are concerned, but everyone's primary focus seems to be the media attention that's being devoted to her disappearance. So what's behind it all?"

Leslie, leading him along to the car, stopped and stared up at him in amazement for a second. "You mean all they care about is the impact on their image? You know, Christian, the more I hear about your brother, the less I like him—and the more I want to rescue you from him." Christian's smile at that was warm, and he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and added, "Here, put your bag in the back and I'll explain on the way to Anna-Kristina's bungalow."

Christian deposited the suitcase in the middle seat and peeled off the overcoat he'd been wearing. "I always forget how warm it is here, even in winter. Yes, then, tell me." He tossed the coat over the suitcase and settled into the front seat, watching Leslie drive and unintentionally missing her recap of his niece's arrival two days before.

"…so she seems to have some food for thought, after our visit to Bond," Leslie concluded, stopping the car in front of the bungalow and only then noticing his eyes on her. There was a preoccupied look on his face and a slight, dreamy smile. "Christian, did you hear a single word I've said?"

Christian blinked and snapped back to the present moment. "I was…watching you drive. You visited someone named Bond? As in James Bond?"

Leslie began to laugh. "The fishing-village elder…but maybe I should let Anna-Kristina tell you herself. What do you mean, watching me drive? You've never seen anyone drive a car before?"

"You beautiful little tease, you," Christian said, rolling his eyes playfully at her. "I've never seen _you_ drive a car before. Don't you know how your every move fascinates me? Just watching you do everyday things like driving or walking or eating…because you are the one doing them, they take on a new significance for me. I just want to watch you move, merely because I love you and haven't seen you in so long, and I can't stop looking at you." Christian tipped toward her, caught her hand in his and pulled her over to kiss her again. _"Herregud,_ my Leslie Rose—is there nowhere we could go to have a night together without raising your father's ire?"

"Nope," said Leslie regretfully. "I could sit here and tell you that I could watch you move all day, and drown in your kisses, and let the world go its merry way, but I think it's better if you talk to your niece."

"I suppose so," he agreed heavily. "All right, then, we'll go inside." A strange expression contorted Christian's face momentarily, before he composed himself and swung out of the car. Behind him, Leslie was now the one who watched him as he lifted the suitcase out of the back seat and started for the bungalow. He wore a shirt and loosely-knotted tie, with black slacks and shiny black shoes, as if he'd boarded the flight from Lilla Jordsö in the middle of a business meeting and had never had a chance to change during the layovers. It made her yearn to take him home—a home only they shared—and free him from the tie, sit within his embrace and talk about their day, as a husband and wife would do. A surge of despair followed the yearning. Would it ever happen? Could she hold out hope in the face of an indefinite wait?

She caught up with him as he set the suitcase onto the bungalow's small front porch with a thump that bespoke his weariness. His gaze met hers, and some current of mutual understanding passed between them. Christian pulled Leslie into his embrace again and kissed her thoroughly; she instantly responded. Within seconds they were so involved that they never heard the bungalow door open.

Then Anna-Kristina's voice observed dryly, "Leslie, either you're kissing an apparition or someone tattled on me."

Christian and Leslie came apart in an explosion of laughter. "You're looking quite well," Christian remarked to his wayward niece, amusement lingering in his hazel eyes. "You must be enjoying being absent without leave."

"I have my reasons," said Anna-Kristina.

"Then," suggested Christian, "maybe you'll let us in and explain them to me. Your mother is frantic and all the family is quite worried. What are you doing here?"

Obstinately Anna-Kristina repeated, "I have my reasons, and they're good ones."

"I realize that," Christian said patiently, lifting the suitcase again and bringing it into the main room with Leslie just behind him. "I'd like to know what they are."

Leslie noticed Anna-Kristina's increasingly annoyed look and decided it might be wise to make herself scarce. "Tell you what," she said, "you two talk awhile. I've got some errands to run and a few loose ends to clear up. If you two are interested in having lunch with us at the main house, just give Father a call and ask him to let me know you're coming, all right?" Uncle and niece nodded, the one weary, the other scowling. "Okay then. Uh… Christian, my love, good luck." She slipped out before either Christian or Anna-Kristina could stop her, closing the door quietly behind her.

Christian half wanted to go after her, and might have, if Anna-Kristina hadn't said, "Well, go." It was then that he realized he was poised in a stance that telegraphed his wishes, and forcibly relaxed and turned away from the door.

"Leslie has her work to do—you heard her," Christian said, taking his niece's cue and speaking their native _jordiska_. "You still haven't answered my question. Are you suddenly so reluctant to talk to me? I used to be your favorite uncle."

Anna-Kristina looked suddenly sheepish, which relieved him. "You still are," she insisted. "Well, I don't know…maybe you can help me. Uncle Christian, I won't marry that Asgar."

"Why not?" asked Christian, settling into a chair with a quiet groan of relief. He began to remove his shoes. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"He's horrible," Anna-Kristina said. "I couldn't do or say anything right. He found every excuse on earth to criticize me and make me feel stupid and inadequate. I would have told Pappa, but Asgar must be looking towards riding my coattails to the throne, because he's the perfect gentleman in Pappa's presence, and Pappa would never believe me."

"Okay," said Christian. "How many times have you been alone with Asgar?"

"Three," she said. "He was the same each time. I honestly think he hopes to rule through me one day. Speaking of ruling, that's another of my reasons. I want to abdicate the throne and let the succession pass to Gabriella."

Christian went still in the process of unknotting his tie. "Why?" he asked, astonished. "All your life you'd tell me and your sisters and cousins about all the good things you were going to do for the people of Lilla Jordsö when you ascended to the throne—all the ridiculous, archaic laws you planned to abolish, and the improvements you meant to make in the welfare and health-care and retirement-benefits systems, and your plans to increase tourism and lure a few international businesses to the island. Oh, and don't forget, you wanted to knock down our Stone-Age castle and replace it with something modern and more understated." He grinned.

"Yes, well…" mumbled Anna-Kristina. "I was always a big dreamer, and you know it. And don't tell me you don't remember the fights Briella and I used to have about it—she was always so envious of the fact that I was next in line for the throne. The older I've gotten, the more clearly I see how things really are in our political structure. I'm no match for all that, Uncle Christian! Briella's more suited to it. She's studied law and really has an interest, and I also think she would be an exceptional ruler. She's got something—a knack, or whatever it is that's necessary to make a good monarch. I'm only the Princess of Cats."

"_Usch,_ Anna-Kristina, you know I was only kidding whenever I said you'd go down in history as _Kattersprinsessan,"_ said Christian humorously. "It was meant to be an affectionate joke, which is the spirit in which I hope you took it."

"I have. I just don't feel that I'm properly prepared to be queen. I don't have the knowledge or the interest that Briella does and she'd be a far better ruler. If I had a dream job…I think it would be a…a travel agent. Or a teacher of small children, preschoolers or those in their first year or two. Or maybe a journalist."

Christian laughed. "It seems the civilian life really excites you. I expect if you were allowed to abdicate the throne, you'd find yourself in my situation, forced to support yourself and forbidden the royal coffers."

"Maybe I don't mind that," Anna-Kristina shot back.

"All right, all right," said Christian, lifting both hands in surrender. "So was that all?"

She shook her head. "No. I thought Mr. Roarke could cure me of my need for amakarna merely to survive."

That brought Christian to a complete standstill, and he eyed her with heightened interest. "What did he say when you asked?"

"He told me it's not possible," Anna-Kristina mumbled, her eyes suddenly bleak. "I'll always have to have it to maintain my good health, he said."

Christian pondered this in silence, a faint frown forming on his features. Anna-Kristina approached him and perched on the edge of the nearest chair to him. "If you think there's any way to get the other things I want…" she began tentatively.

Christian shrugged, primary focus elsewhere. "Well, your father puts little stock in anything I say. If you really want someone to champion your cause and have any hope of success, I think you should go to Marina. She can talk Arnulf into anything, it seems." He fell silent again, sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands spread and fingertips touching, staring at them in contemplation without really seeing them.

"You look destroyed, Uncle Christian," Anna-Kristina said after a moment. "Either take a nap, or go and find Leslie. I'm sure she'd not mind your company on her errands."

"Probably not," murmured Christian absently, yawned and frowned again. "I do mean to speak with her, but I haven't slept properly for twenty hours and I'm exhausted. Let me know if either Mr. Roarke or Leslie calls, but till then I'm going to get some sleep while I have a chance." He got to his feet. "Which of the bedrooms are you using?"

"That one," said Anna-Kristina, pointing to the one in question. "I think I'll just take a walk along the beach. I need to get out."

Christian paused to eye her. "Aren't you afraid you'll be recognized?"

"Oh, Mr. Roarke took care of that," said Anna-Kristina. "He'll probably do it for you too, if you ask him. Have a nice nap."

"Thanks," Christian mumbled and padded off to the unoccupied bedroom. Inside, he closed the door and lay back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling overhead. While he wasn't too worried about his niece's wish to pass the throne on to her sister or to jettison her verbally abusive fiancé, he couldn't stop thinking about her revelations in regard to the spice that had become the bane of his existence. Did Roarke know more than Anna-Kristina had let on? And how much did Leslie know? The questions circled his brain till he drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- December 28, 1999

It was early afternoon before Leslie was free; by then Christian was a little antsy, for he hadn't seen her at all since she had left him at Anna-Kristina's bungalow the previous day. So when he appeared unannounced at the main house shortly after she and Roarke had finished lunch, he was glad to find that she seemed to have completed everything she needed to do for the day. Roarke welcomed him with a warm smile and a handshake. "I presume you'd like to spirit away my daughter for the day," he said with good humor.

"You presume correctly," Christian said and grinned. "Besides, you know what they say about all work and no play. I think Leslie's earned some play time. What about a trip to the beach, my Leslie Rose? I think I need to soak in some sun while I'm here. You can just imagine what our weather's like right now at home."

Leslie laughed and nodded. "I just bet! Okay, then, let me change my clothes and I'll be right with you."

They spent a couple of hours on the beach, lying in the sun, wading in the ocean and collecting shells. Christian even made a whimsical game out of chasing a seagull that seemed to think he had something for it to eat. Presently they packed up their gear and, by mutual unspoken agreement, left the sand, strolling at leisure back towards the main house. Once they had crossed the Ring Road and entered a path through the jungle, Christian cleared his throat as a prelude. "You mentioned my being arrested for bigamy if I didn't leave the island, or something like that, yesterday," he said. "Believe me, I wouldn't care if I were, so long as I was in the same place as you."

"Kind of a drastic way to achieve that goal, don't you think?" Leslie kidded.

"Frankly," Christian said, seeing an opening, "I'm feeling very drastic right now. Do you realize it's been more than three years since you and I first met and fell in love? Don't tell me you didn't think that by now we might have been married at last."

"A lot of unexpected things happened," Leslie said, her face clouding over. "Not the least of which was the cure for the bone-eating disease. I really never expected that one."

"Nor I," Christian remarked, his tone carrying a strange note that made Leslie turn to look at him with curiosity in her eyes. "How ironic that something so beneficial should be a source of curses on my part."

"Christian, my love, I want to be with you just as much as you want to be with me," Leslie said, "but I have no control over the timing. Are you sure you're all right? You seem a little touchy all of a sudden."

Christian sighed deeply and let his head fall back for a moment. "I know, and I'm sorry, my darling. But ever since Anna-Kristina told me that she can never break her need for amakarna, I've had quite a lot on my mind; and the more I think, the more frustrated I feel. Never have I loathed an inanimate object as I do that spice."

"I can imagine," Leslie said. "I'm not too fond of it myself."

"As a matter of fact," Christian said deliberately, "I had an idea last night as I was going to sleep. You understand that Marina's father is still the only source of amakarna on earth, don't you? And with his good health restored, he can hold me and Marina in bondage for the rest of our lives—mine, Marina's, and yours as well. He's not the sort to give in, especially in the position he believes he's in."

Leslie nodded, keeping one eye on Christian and the other on the ground in front of her as they walked. "And your point is?" she prompted.

"If Mr. Roarke knows so much about amakarna, then why can't he cultivate the spice? It would solve many problems. Arnulf could get his supply from your father instead of Marina's; Marina could marry her man and I could marry you…"

Leslie winced to herself. "It's a wonderful solution, Christian, but there's one little problem with that. Father absolutely refuses to have the stuff on his island. He's put an unconditional and permanent ban on it."

Christian stared at her. "Why?" he demanded, stopping altogether.

Leslie stopped too and turned to him. "He has his reasons, and Father never does anything without good reasons."

"Well, what are they?" Christian persisted, losing patience.

"I don't know," Leslie admitted, "but as I said, there's no doubt in my mind that they're valid and legitimate reasons. I wish it were different, but that's how it is."

"Wait a minute here," Christian said, scowling at her and surprising her greatly. "You don't know why he's banned amakarna from the island, yet you agree with it?"

"He's my father! I've known him more than half my life, and I know him well enough to know that he doesn't do anything lightly!" Leslie said, her voice rising in defense of the man who had raised her. "Who am I to pry into his private affairs?"

"You're his daughter, that's who you are," retorted Christian. "As his child, I should think you have a perfect right to know why he won't grow the stuff himself, especially since it's interfered directly with your own life." He paused and regarded her with a frosty look in his hazel eyes. "Or are you simply happy with the situation as it stands, and don't really care whether we can ever be together?"

Leslie gasped. "That's a low blow," she exclaimed.

"It's meant to make you think," Christian said sharply. "And you really should think about it—about your stance on the whole issue, not to mention your real feelings about this relationship. Granted, it's been stagnant for three and a half years, but you don't seem to have any urgency about rectifying it, even when a perfect solution is staring you in the face." He shook his head. "I think I'd better leave you to consider it." And he stalked off in the direction they'd come, leaving Leslie staring after him.

"Maybe you'd better think about making accusations where you don't have all the facts!" she shouted after him, then turned and ran. She didn't stop till the path spilled her out onto the terrace behind Roarke's study, and only then did she let herself go over the heated words she and Christian had exchanged. She was still more dumbfounded than anything else: it was the first time they'd ever argued, and it was a novelty for her.

"You're back early," said Roarke in surprise. "Where's Christian?"

"I don't know," Leslie said, thumping into a chair to catch her breath.

Roarke watched her for a moment, but she didn't volunteer anything else, so he said, "Just what's the matter, sweetheart?"

Leslie turned a bewildered look on him. "Christian and I had a fight."

"Oh, is that all?" said Roarke, amused. "I was wondering when that was going to happen. You two seemed much too docile." Before he could continue, the phone rang and he picked it up. It turned out to be a fairly involved call, and Leslie got up and made herself busy around the study, trying not to dwell on her fight with Christian. But it wouldn't leave her mind; and eventually she turned inward as she worked, ruminating over Christian's words. Did she really have a _right_ to know, whether she was Roarke's daughter or not? Would it be presumptuous of her to try to look into the matter?

Roarke wound up the call after a while and hung up, but in spite of her curiosity Leslie was too unsure to ask any questions. Several times she almost got up the courage, turned toward Roarke as if to say something, then chickened out and resumed working.

Of course, before too long Roarke noticed, and began to watch her surreptitiously. Inevitably he caught her the next time she tried to ask, and as soon as their gazes met, Leslie turned quite red. Roarke laughed. "Am I truly that forbidding to you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not really that…" she began, then let her voice trail off. Roarke's humor faded.

"Come and sit down, Leslie," he suggested. "You seem quite bothered by your argument with Christian."

"It just feels so odd and unnerving to be on the outs with him," Leslie said uneasily, settling into the chair again. She sighed softly. "The problem is that I don't know what to do about it."

"Oh, you'll patch things up before long," Roarke said easily.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you," murmured Leslie, her gaze dropping.

Roarke paused then and focused fully on her. "Why? What was the argument about?"

Again Leslie felt heat fill her face. "You," she finally confessed, "and your stance on amakarna."

Very surprised, Roarke studied her for a long moment before prompting, "Go ahead and tell me about it."

Reluctantly Leslie described hers and Christian's altercation. "He seems to think that I have a right to know your reasons, simply because I'm your daughter," she concluded, "and furthermore, I get the impression from his attitude that he thought there was nothing more than long-standing stubbornness driving you on the subject. Of course, I told him you never do anything without good reason. If you put out a total ban on amakarna, then you have to have excellent motivation for it, and that's all there is to it."

Roarke regarded her with ironic amusement. "While I appreciate the support, my dear Leslie," he remarked somewhat pointedly, "there is such a thing as blind loyalty." He watched her blush yet again and smiled faintly. "Yes, in fact, I do have good reasons for banning amakarna, although one is based purely on chance. But you need not think those reasons are too private for you to know about." He settled back in his chair and let his gaze drift upward, reaching deep into memory. "Primarily, I banned the spice because it contributed to the deaths of my parents. I mentioned to you and Anna-Kristina that I inherited the gene from them that saved me from the need for amakarna in my diet. In my mother especially, there was a further complication. The gene normally permits tolerance of the spice without creating a requirement. But when Mother tried it, she was found to have no tolerance whatsoever. For her it was far closer to a severe allergy. What for Anna-Kristina would be a day's normal intake proved to be a great deal more than her system could deal with; in essence, she perished from overdose."

Leslie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God," she breathed.

Roarke nodded, his gaze trained on some distant recollection. "By then my father had the bone-eating disease. Amakarna had been helping him maintain a nearly normal lifestyle; but when Mother died, he refused to take it ever again. Within another year, he too was dead." He closed his eyes and fell silent.

Stricken, Leslie leaned forward, eyes filling with tears. "What a terrible tragedy," she said, her voice thickening as her throat began to close with emotion.

Surprised again, Roarke opened his eyes and took in her expression, smiled sympathetically and came around the desk, pulling her out of the chair and gathering her into his embrace. "If I had known it would affect you so strongly, perhaps I would have thought twice about telling you," he said softly.

"No," said Leslie, shaking her head, "I think it's because I feel that much closer to you. I mean…we're both orphans."

That made Roarke chuckle. "At what age is one not considered an orphan upon the deaths of one's parents? I was already an adult when it occurred. But I can certainly see your point of view in the matter. Yes," he concluded, gently teasing, "we orphans must stick together, huh?" That got him a shaky laugh and a nod.

"You said there was a reason based on chance," Leslie managed after a few minutes. "What was it?"

Roarke smiled ruefully. "When I first acquired this island," he said slowly, "I spent a little time searching for a way to make a living. I had tried several different ventures before deciding that perhaps it was inevitable that I deal with my people's spice. So I tried to cultivate it, only to discover that amakarna doesn't agree with Fantasy Island's soil. I could never discern the reason for that, but it was a convenient excuse nevertheless—so I put a ban on the spice." He sighed quietly. "I have never had reason to rethink the ban, at least until this year when I became ill and realized its presence would have been a great boon after all. Unfortunately, even if I were to change my mind and rescind the ban, it would be moot, due to the problem with the soil."

Leslie nodded. "Well, that's not for anyone to decide except you…not me, and definitely not Christian. He must have really thought he had the answer to the whole stupid problem, and that's all very well and fine, but he didn't have to get belligerent about it."

"I suspect his anger stemmed from frustration," said Roarke, "and that's perfectly understandable. Try not to fret over it, sweetheart. Give yourself and Christian some time, let him cool down, and then perhaps you can take up the matter with him again. He's a reasonable man, and I'm sure he'll understand."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- December 28, 1999

It was close to dinnertime when Anna-Kristina came into the study unannounced; Leslie was beginning to feel a little anxious because she hadn't heard from Christian all afternoon. She'd been devoting quite a bit of uneasy thought to what he was like in anger and how stubborn he was about grudge-holding, so when his niece walked in, she nearly asked. The only thing that stopped her was the way Anna-Kristina arrived: she half stumbled through the door, as if she'd been drinking, and had to hold onto the support post at the foyer steps to keep herself on her feet. She was visibly quaking and had a faintly dazed look on her face; only her eyes glittered with a fierce light.

"Are you all right, Anna-Kristina?" Roarke asked urgently.

She nodded perfunctorily at him and focused on Leslie. "I heard about your fight with Uncle Christian," she said.

Leslie sat up. "What'd he tell you?"

"Just that you and he had an argument and he didn't want to discuss it. If he won't talk about it, maybe you will."

"Before you do," broke in Roarke, "I want to know why you are in such a precarious state, Anna-Kristina. You appear to be ill."

Anna-Kristina sighed. "I…well, if you must know, Mr. Roarke, I haven't had any of that spice since I arrived here. I didn't bring a supply with me."

Roarke stood up like a shot, and Leslie stared at her. "Why not?" she asked in disbelief.

"I came without it because I truly believed that you could correct my need for it, Mr. Roarke," Anna-Kristina said, now holding the post with both hands. "But with all the new information I have, I'd rather die that have to worry about having a ready supply for the rest of my life."

Roarke's temper snapped unexpectedly; although his voice was deceptively calm, Leslie could hear the underlying rage and knew he was maintaining iron control. "You dare suggest you'd prefer to die rather than assure yourself of a source of an ultimately harmless spice? To admit such a thing is to give up, and that is the most cowardly thing I know. I would advise you to rethink your position, young lady. If you will kindly excuse me…" He stalked out through the French shutters, then paused on the terrace as if something had just occurred to him. "Leslie, there is a small supply here, is there not?"

Leslie nodded. "In the cellar lab," she said. "When Rogan and I made up the cure for you last winter, he made certain to leave his spice jar there for safekeeping."

"Good," said Roarke curtly. "Get it, and see to it that Anna-Kristina takes some with dinner. For that matter, have her eat here, and Christian if he so chooses. I'll return before dinner is ready." With that, he left.

Leslie got up and started toward the foyer, noting the startled look on Anna-Kristina's face. "Why was he so angry?" the younger woman asked.

Leslie paused, eyed her and sighed heavily. "It's a long story, but I can tell you that amakarna was instrumental in the deaths of Father's parents, and willful suicide is a fairly sore issue with him. That was a really foolish thing to say, Anna-Kristina. Come on, take a seat in here and wait for me while I get the amakarna."

When she came back, Anna-Kristina had been joined by Christian, whose expression was shuttered. He looked around when he heard Leslie come down the steps, then frowned and deliberately turned his attention back to his niece. "I can't believe you forgot that spice on purpose," he said.

"Don't you scold me too," Anna-Kristina said wearily. "Thank you, Leslie. I guess I _will_ eat here with you."

"All right," Leslie agreed. "Christian, what about you?"

Christian shrugged. "I suppose. Anna-Kristina, if you do something like this again…"

Anna-Kristina glared at him. "Don't lecture me!" she exploded at him. "And stop ignoring Leslie! She's brought back some of that damned spice so that I can be forced to ingest it with my meal this evening. You've been a terrible grouch all afternoon and I'm truly sick of being around you!" She turned to Leslie. "I apologize, but is there a bathroom I could use, somewhere here?"

Leslie nodded. "Just off the kitchen—it's mainly for the staff in there. Tell them I gave you clearance to use it."

"Thank you," said Anna-Kristina and determinedly pushed herself to her feet. Christian started for her, but she barked at him, "Don't touch me!" Startled, he froze where he stood, and both he and Leslie watched Anna-Kristina weave down the hall towards the kitchen.

"I suppose," Christian muttered stiltedly after an awkward silence, "I should be grateful you even have any of that junk, but I can only think that its presence underscores my point from earlier."

Leslie studied him. "You know, Christian, I'm willing to explain things more fully to you, since Father informed me of his actual reasons a while ago. But I don't think you really care to know…or would you like to prove me wrong?"

Her frigid tones caught his attention and he really looked at her for the first time. He cleared his throat a bit and said more calmly, "All right, I'm listening."

Leslie drew in a breath and explained what Roarke had told her about his parents' deaths, absently turning the spice jar in her hands as she spoke. Christian listened blank-faced; when she paused for a breath or two, he shook his head. "Entirely emotional reasons," he said dismissively.

"I'm not finished," Leslie snapped, losing her own temper now. "Dammit, Christian Enstad, you sure hold a grudge like any other self-important royal. Do you want the full story or not? Or have your feelings changed and all you want is to run back to Marina?"

Christian gaped at her, then cursed in his native tongue. "You can push right back, I see. All right, then, tell me the rest of it."

"Father did try growing the spice once," she said coldly. "But it refused to root in the soil on this island. He could never figure out why, but something prevented amakarna from being cultivated here. I'm sure you think that's wonderfully convenient, but if you don't believe me, you can ask Father." Without warning her voice broke and she turned her back on him. "Do what you want, but that's the whole story, and it's the truth."

Behind her she heard Christian release a long breath. "It does sound convenient, but on the other hand, I've heard too many stories of strange flora here to discount it out of hand." He fell silent a moment, and Leslie waited, her heart pounding and her stomach rolling nervously. "It seems I was a little hasty in blaming you for wanting things to stay as they are. It's only that I'm so fed up with the waiting, and I often wonder how much more I can take. I've considered abandoning everything and running to you countless times."

Leslie turned and met his gaze. "I've probably wished on just as many occasions that you would. Oh God, Christian, I'm so sorry. Father said something to me about blind loyalty, and I'm afraid he was right. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course, my Leslie Rose," Christian said fervently, pulling her into his arms, "as long as you'll forgive me. I truly felt like hell after I left you, but I was afraid for a while that I had completely destroyed everything."

She nestled into his embrace with enormous relief. "I think I might have come looking for you eventually if you hadn't come here first. Please, my love, stay and eat with us. I think Father's charged me with seeing to it that some of this stuff goes on Anna-Kristina's food anyway."

Christian laughed. "It serves her right if she thinks we're babysitting her. But I think she can be trusted to put it on her own food, so you probably don't have to force-feed her." He sighed deeply with audible relief and rocked gently back and forth from one foot to the other with her still in his arms. "I've been thinking. It's the holidays, and I see no reason Anna-Kristina and I couldn't stay here through New Year's. I'd be very interested in experiencing one of your famous New Year's Eve parties—some of the circles we run in have raved about them in the past. And this year's will probably be extra-special."

"That it will," Leslie confirmed. "I'm glad—it'll be so wonderful to ring in the new year with you."

"Good. What Arnulf doesn't know won't hurt him," said Christian, grinning. "Besides, I'd put serious money on the probability of Marina being in Italy with her boyfriend, so I think it's only fair that I have the same privilege."

"Well, I'm happy to see you two coming to your senses at last," a tart voice remarked, and Christian and Leslie looked around to see Anna-Kristina standing in the foyer, still bracing herself on the wall for support. "I started to think it would never happen. Maybe now Mr. Roarke won't be so angry at me for wishing I could die instead of depending on amakarna all my life."

Christian groaned. "Don't be ridiculous, Anna-Kristina. I can't blame Mr. Roarke for getting upset. You're very lucky that he and Leslie happened to have a little bit of it here. Incidentally, just where did it come from?"

"My cousin Rogan had it," Leslie said. "He brought it with him—it had been in Marina's sister's things when she died, and he wanted to be sure no one used it to some bad end. It was one of the ingredients in the cure for the bone-eating disease, you might remember. When he was done with it, he deliberately left it here in the house so that it would be safe from any other possible schemes."

Christian nodded. "I see," he said. "I admit, I thought Mr. Roarke had kept it in secret. I apologize for that as well." He stared at the spice jar and heaved a weary sigh. "If I never hear of that stuff again, it'll be too soon."

"I'm starting to feel the same way," Leslie said. "Unfortunately, I guess it's too intertwined in all our lives for us to ignore it now. Well, dinner should be ready shortly, and none too soon for you, Anna-Kristina. You're going to have three witnesses, so you'd better make sure you put some of this on your food."

Anna-Kristina grimaced. "If you think you've had enough of that spice, just imagine how I feel about it! All right, all right…you win."

Dinner was actually a quiet affair, marked in particular by Anna-Kristina's visible revival after sprinkling some amakarna across her food and making short work of what was on her plate. Roarke and Leslie went over a few details in regard to the New Year's bash for Friday night, but beyond that it seemed as if they were all too tired to talk much. Roarke had an island council meeting to attend that evening, so he left immediately after the meal; and Anna-Kristina decided to return to the bungalow and catch up on her sleep. Christian and Leslie watched her go, then got up and wandered across the veranda, both surprised at their sudden free time alone and wondering what to do with it.

"How long do these island council meetings last?" Christian asked.

"Two or three hours usually," Leslie said, "but this one's the year-end wrap-up, so I expect Father'll be gone even longer than that." She gasped suddenly. "Oh my God. Christian, my love, wait here a few minutes—I'd better put away that amakarna before someone else gets to it, even Mariki. She wouldn't have any idea what to do with it." She rushed back across the porch and grabbed the spice jar, then retreated into the house in order to replace the jar in its spot in the cellar lab. Christian watched her go, frowning deeply, trying to chase away a thought that had begun to nag him. _Don't even think it, Christian Carl Tobias,_ he warned himself. _It's all but treason._ The idea itself stabbed him deeply enough to cause a nearly physical pain, which in itself was enough to make him shy away from it. Firmly he shut a mental door on it and mustered up a smile for Leslie when she returned.

"So what can a couple in love do on this island for three hours or so?" he asked with a comical leer that made her snicker.

"You're a lecher with a one-track mind, you know that?" she teased him. "In fact, I do have a suggestion. Have you ever walked a beach in the dark, lain on the sand and just stared up at the stars? I was here the first time I saw the Milky Way since my childhood in Connecticut, and it was even more amazing than I remembered. What do you think?"

"I like it," Christian agreed. "And I may as well play the role of single-minded lecher right to the hilt and try to think of some way to seduce you on that beach, as long as we're out there alone in the dark."

Leslie eyed him with mock jaundice. "Huh," she said, but he could see the twinkle in her eyes. "We'll just see about that, Christian Enstad." He only grinned.

The idea stuck with Leslie most of the way down the Ring Road to the same secluded beach where Christian had discovered the unusual rose that had spawned his nickname for her. They left their shoes in the jeep and picked their way down to the sand; by now it was almost completely dark, and the remnants of sunset colored the western horizon a series of graduated blues ranging from Caribbean to navy to indigo before giving way to black. The stars were just as Leslie had described them, glittering in spectacular glory overhead, pockmarking the sky to such an extent that it seemed as if they could throw shadows with their combined light. The scene was so suggestively romantic that when Christian wrapped a proprietary arm around her waist and drew her in against his side, she was reminded of his half-joking warning and began to wonder how much resistance she had left. Not since Teppo had died had she been with any man, and the nine-year drought lowered her inhibitions to some extent, with Christian in such close proximity.

Leslie wrestled with her morality for about thirty seconds, thinking she might very well be a hypocrite for constantly fending him off and then making a move on him, and wondering whether he'd pick up on that. _Maybe we won't have another chance before he's forced to take Anna-Kristina home,_ she mused uneasily. _And with our wait stretching out to infinity, who knows when we can really be together?_

She felt Christian tighten his hold on her and looked up, only to find him watching her curiously in the starlight. "You looked very thoughtful there," he said softly. "What's on your mind?"

Leslie felt sheepish. "You'll laugh if I tell you," she hedged.

Christian turned fully to face her and gathered her in against him. "I could never do that to you, my Leslie Rose. Tell me, please."

"All your half-serious jokes about making love to me before you go," she said, shrugging, lowering her head with some embarrassment. "I've only ever known the experience with Teppo, and nine years have passed since the last time with him. And here I am, and there you are, and we're in love and still being thwarted in our quest to be together for real." She shook her head. "I don't know, maybe I'm looking for excuses, because my conscience is giving me hell for even entertaining the thought. And I feel two-faced for it too, after all the time I've spent refusing you and suddenly being on the edge of changing my mind."

"Maybe, my darling, you just need some help," Christian murmured, tilting her head back and kissing her. He still had a way of wiping her mind clean of all thought, though in a moment or two he made the mistake of lifting his mouth from hers and gauging her reaction. "Is it working?"

"Do you think I'm just a tease for having second and third and fourth thoughts?" Leslie asked him anxiously. She could easily feel his need for her, and her body was answering with equal enthusiasm.

Christian smiled reluctantly. "No, only conflicted," he said softly, "and maybe infused with a little too much American prudery. Not to mention your upbringing since you came to Fantasy Island."

"Is that good or bad, in your view?" she wondered.

Christian chuckled helplessly and hugged her very hard. "It's part of what makes me love you so very much," he told her. "Tell me, though, if I pushed the issue—not that I would ever force you, of course, but if I did—what do you think you would do?"

"It's been so long, and you tempt me more than you think you do," Leslie said, closing her eyes and steeping herself in the familiar scent of him. "I think I'm afraid that if we started, though, we'd never stop."

"That's probably true," Christian observed with a matter-of-fact mien that made her laugh out loud. "I've been wondering how many couples your father's hosted here who have slept together, having known each other only a day or so—never mind having the benefit of wedding vows. What must he think of such things, being the man he is? Does he ascribe it to human nature, or does he quietly disapprove? And if he allows it among his guests, who is he to discourage it in his daughter?" He caught Leslie's sharp reaction and placed two fingers over her lips. "This isn't meant to criticize, my darling, it's only curiosity speaking here. The thought has occurred to me before, and it seemed a good time to ask." He read the dubious look on her face and added teasingly, "Remember what you said he told you about blind loyalty!"

Laughing with resignation, Leslie shook her head again. "You're forcing things into the open that I never had the courage to examine even to myself. Well, I don't really know what he thinks about guests sleeping together without being married. All I know is, even if he can't really control what they do, he can definitely set rules for me. Being his daughter made all the difference. After all, I do still live at home—it's just expedient for the business since we work together."

"That's as well," Christian said, "but you're thirty-four years old, and I think that's more than old enough to control at least some aspects of your life. I truly think that, if we did go ahead and make love, the only way he could find out is if you let your conscience punish you for it to such an extent that he reads it in your face or in your body language. Tell me I'm wrong, if I am, but that's my feeling."

"No," Leslie murmured at some length, fingering his open collar, "you're not."

He nodded, watching her. "All right, then, with that question answered, let's try another. Let's assume there's no way your father can ever know. What would you do, from this moment, standing here in my arms?"

She went still for half a minute, only her fingers closing in tighter on the fabric; then, as though beaten, she looked longingly up at him and confessed, "I'd let you do anything you wanted." She drew in a soft surprised breath when, as if in response, she felt a rush of pure desire spiral through her. It was more than she could resist, and had she known, she would have been amused by how greatly she surprised Christian by pulling his head down and kissing him with at least as much fervor as he had always exhibited toward her.

An entire five minutes elapsed before they let go. They were both breathing hard and their eyes were glazed with need—but it had been Christian, incredibly, who had broken contact. That nagging thought had sneaked up on him at just the moment he would have preferred his mind shut down altogether. He cursed resignedly in _jordiska_ and set her back from him. "I can't, after all. I can imagine what you must think of me."

"It's your conscience talking," Leslie suggested. "Just like mine."

He nodded, seizing on her excuse. "My mistake, calling it 'American prudery'. Perhaps I'm not quite as free-minded as Marina is after all." He cursed again and turned away, exhaling loudly and raking both hands through his hair. "Leslie, my darling, sit here on the sand with me and help me count the stars."

She smiled and slipped her hand into his. "Come on," she said gently and led him nearly to the waterline, where they settled into the sand and stargazed for the next half hour. Neither spoke in all that time; Leslie was ruminating over how very nearly she had given herself to him and how badly she still wanted to do so, while Christian was fighting his treasonous common sense and holding her possessively, as if for fear he would have to let her go.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- December 31, 1999

The New Year's bash was in full swing; Leslie, sitting beside Christian at a huge table with all her friends and their husbands, had by now realized that something was on Christian's mind, and it was her hope that the party would provide a distraction. For her friends, it was the first time they had ever actually met Christian, except for Lauren and Brian Knight who had worked with him just before he'd created the island website. Only Myeko was absent from the gathering at the table; she was the only unattached one in their circle now, and Leslie had been glad to see her make fast friends with Anna-Kristina. The other men—Grady Harding, Jimmy Omamara, Fernando Ordoñez and Kazuo Miyamoto—had hit it off with Christian almost immediately and welcomed him into their conversation, settling into the usual talk about sports and other male interests once they'd exhausted the topics of what he did for a living and what, exactly, being a prince entailed. The women had been chatting as well, carrying on a separate simultaneous conversation alongside the men; but nobody missed the fact that all the while, Christian maintained some sort of physical contact with Leslie, whether it was an arm around her shoulders, holding her hand, or even just a touch on her arm. Leslie ascribed it to whatever was on Christian's mind, and had finally quieted her worries by deciding it had to be because he and Anna-Kristina must leave soon for Lilla Jordsö. She herself found their looming departure to be a persistent black cloud in the back of her mind and wanted nothing more than to dispel it, even if only for one night.

Eventually a lull fell in both conversations at once, and the group used the moment to shift their attention, men to their women and vice versa. Everyone watched Christian resettle himself in his chair and slide his arm around Leslie's shoulders again. Still and always the boldest one in the group, Camille asked, "So what's the situation? Any changes?"

"Nothing yet," said Leslie, her voice soft and regretful.

"Sometimes I think nothing will ever change," Christian said, his voice carrying an undertone of bitterness that no one could miss. "There are too many crazy problems that seem to have no solutions. The only thing I could possibly do, it seems, is to desert my entire life and hide here on the island—and even then I'm sure it would do me no good. Mr. Roarke wouldn't tolerate it."

They all laughed, though Leslie's was a trace uneasy. "I did some research on amakarna after Mr. Roarke's illness earlier this year," Fernando remarked. "I was amazed at just how little information there is out there. It's my understanding that, at least presently, all the amakarna on earth comes from one source—some count in Italy somewhere. Is he the father of your wife, Christian?"

"Yes," Christian said and gave Fernando an ironic look. "You might guess that he and I don't get along at all." Everyone laughed again. "Most people have still never heard of the spice, and there's little reason they should have. Believe me, I wish with all my heart that I never had."

An uncomfortable silence fell, and the others watched as Leslie turned to Christian and tilted her head a bit, trying to get a better look at his expression. "It's New Year's Eve, my love," she said, her voice a gentle, teasing coax. "Do you think you can put on a happy face for the sake of the occasion and pretend time's stopped for this one night?"

"Hey, if you stop time, that means we'll never get to count down to the new year," protested Maureen, and once more laughter broke out—this time, tension-breaking laughter. Even Christian succumbed to it and, once recovered, cast an apologetic glance around the table.

"Forgive me," he said. "But my niece and I will have to return home in another day or two, and I've been trying to squeeze out all the time with Leslie that I possibly can. I think I've been something of a wet blanket all evening, and I'm sorry to be…what do you call it, a downer? They do have dancing here, don't they?"

"Oh no, not again," groaned Leslie, and this time she got the laugh. Christian tugged her over and planted a noisy kiss on her lips, then grinned and seemed to lose his gloomy demeanor from then on.

Within a few minutes of midnight, all the couples—including Christian and Leslie—were on the dance floor, wearing themselves out to various lively tunes struck up by the band Roarke had hired for the occasion. Conversation and the general mood had grown steadily more and more excited as the final year of the 1900s played out its last few moments and a new era loomed just ahead of them. Between songs, Christian pulled Leslie into his embrace and studied her. "So it's soon to be a whole new century, then."

"Not technically," Leslie pointed out. "I've been trying to figure out how on earth it ought to be classified. I mean, it's not the 1900s anymore, but it's still the twentieth century, and it won't be the twenty-first till next year. I think 2000 is sort of an 'in-between' year."

Christian thought about it. "That's an interesting way to look at it," he mused, smiling. "A year of transition, perhaps, a chance for everyone to become accustomed to four entirely new numbers, before we have to remind ourselves that we were all born in the last century and not the current one."

"Transition," Leslie murmured, turning the idea over in her mind. "I hope it's a year of transition for you and me, too. At least we're here together, now, and I choose to think it's a good omen."

"I hope you're right," Christian said fervently, hugging her close again. Leslie gladly snuggled against him, but again she wondered what lay behind his nearly continuous need to touch her and hold her. _He must be storing up,_ she reasoned. _Who knows how long it'll be before we see each other again?_ It was good enough to satisfy her, and she relaxed against him.

The final sixty-second countdown started somewhere, taking up momentum but getting all the way to fifty before catching their admittedly distracted attention. _"Herregud,_ it's nearly over already," Christian said, astonished. "I must remember to thank my niece for running off as she did—or else I could never have enjoyed the privilege of bringing in the new year with you." He grinned at her; she grinned back, and they both joined in the chorus of voices counting off the last seconds.

"…five, four, three, two, one…HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Instantly Christian tilted Leslie's head back and kissed her, long, slow, involved. All around them, many other couples were doing the same thing; somewhere not too far away, Roarke, Myeko and Anna-Kristina, standing together, raised champagne glasses at each other and toasted the arrival of the new year. Roarke's gaze strayed then towards his daughter and her prince, and he found himself beset with the feeling that he had failed them somehow. Even his powers fell short when it came to dealing with amakarna, and he could only hope that somehow, somewhere, something would open up and finally clear the way for Christian's and Leslie's happiness. Humorously he wondered if Leslie had made her usual private farewell to the old year, as she had always done in memory of her mother. _Surely she did,_ he reasoned with a smile. _She would never have forgotten something so fundamental to her nature._ Roarke sipped the champagne in his glass and let his gaze roam the crowd.

Though it was clear the party would continue for probably most of the rest of the night, within fifteen minutes Christian began to look restless and antsy. Leslie wondered at him for a bit, then finally came out and asked, "Something wrong?"

Christian focused on her. "Do you have to play the host alongside your father, or do you think he'd excuse you for the night, especially now that the great moment is past? There are far too many people here, and I've found of late that such gatherings eventually leave me with a headache. Will you come with me to some place where we can be alone for a little while?"

"I'll ask Father about it," Leslie said and smiled, unable to turn him down. She still couldn't quite dismiss the fact of his impending departure with Anna-Kristina, and was as interested in maximizing their time together as he was. "I'm sure he'll understand. I'll be right back."

She found Roarke standing beside Myeko and Anna-Kristina, and grinned at them all. "Happy New Year, everybody!" she greeted them.

The women responded with toasts and wide smiles, and Roarke replied, "Happy New Year, Leslie!" His eyes were twinkling. "We seem to have all survived the big moment, although perhaps I'll ask Christian to double-check our computers tomorrow morning."

Leslie laughed. "That's probably not a bad idea. Uh—speaking of Christian, he's showing signs of partyitis, and I told him I'd ask you about my fulfillment of hostess duties."

"Indeed," chuckled Roarke. "I see no reason you and he can't slip away. It's a special night, and he'll be leaving soon. If you two need time alone together, then take as much as you wish." Their gazes met; his was so knowing that she almost instantly understood its unspoken meaning, and hers grew astonished. "You're old enough to decide for yourself about such things," Roarke said quietly, "and you have a healthy dose of common sense. I trust you, Leslie, and I'll leave you to take whatever time you wish with Christian."

Father and daughter had read each other perfectly, and Leslie was simply astounded. "That's…that's incredible! I've fought with the dilemma for ages, and I could only think that you'd disapprove…"

Roarke smoothed her hair. "Sometimes love is the most important consideration of all," he said softly. "Go to him, my child, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Leslie hugged him hard. "I love you, Father," she said for his ears alone, then broke away and returned to Christian. Roarke watched, with the sudden and very alien feeling that his daughter was slipping away from him and wondering if all parents felt so.

"They're going to make love," noted Anna-Kristina astutely from behind him, and he turned to her.

"You're so certain?" he asked, mock-sternly.

Myeko grinned as Anna-Kristina nodded firmly. "It's a very special night, they're taking time alone together, and we must leave soon—with no knowledge of when we might be able to return." She met her host's gaze. "If only my father were like you, Mr. Roarke. You just gave Leslie and Uncle Christian a lovely and generous gift."

"What a pretty way to say it," Myeko remarked. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Roarke, I really never got around to properly thanking you for that night with Eros a few years ago." Anna-Kristina gawked at her, noticed only by Roarke. "It made me feel like a woman again, at a time when I barely even felt human."

Roarke chuckled again. "You're quite welcome, Myeko, and since it seems to be a night for gratitude, I want to express mine to you for having been such a true and loyal friend to Leslie for all these years. You and the others helped to ease her difficult adjustment when she first came here so long ago, and I believe she's all the better off for it. Thank you for giving her your unquestioning friendship."

He and Anna-Kristina both saw a sudden sheen in Myeko's eyes. "It's always been easy being friends with Leslie, and I'm glad I know her." She cleared her throat loudly. "I thought this was a party. Aren't we supposed to be having fun here?"

They all laughed. "So it is," agreed Roarke, "and I have rounds to make at any rate. Enjoy yourselves."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- January 1, 2000

Leslie caught up with Christian and smiled at him. "All clear. So what'd you have in mind, then?"

Christian thought about it for one moment. "Take me to some truly secluded place that no one else knows about."

"I can do that," Leslie said, instantly knowing exactly where they would go. She took his hand and led him through the throngs of partygoers, away at last from the massive gathering and down a short trail to the Ring Road where cars were parked in long rows on both sides of the pavement. She headed straight to a station wagon and gestured for him to climb in the front.

"Well," said Christian with surprise. "It's that secluded that we have to drive there?"

"It won't take long," Leslie said, "but it's definitely secluded. It's always been one of my favorite retreats to go to when I needed to be alone and think." She started the car, eased it out of its spot in the lineup and headed west along the Ring Road.

A little less than ten minutes later she parked near what looked to Christian like dense jungle. "Is this safe?" he wanted to know.

"Safe as it can ever get," she promised. "Just follow me, my love." She led the way along, grinning when she felt him grab her hand to keep track of her in the intense dark. The trail was short and narrow, and in less than a minute it disgorged them into a small clearing set off from the rest of the world by low ridges covered with vegetation. Two broad, flat rocks bordered a beautiful little pool that reflected the stars; a small waterfall trickled quietly down the rock wall.

"This is amazing," said Christian, awed. "It feels as if we're all alone on earth. I can see why you come here to think and be alone—it's perfect for that."

Leslie nodded. "Leave your shoes here and stick your feet in the water," she suggested, removing her own footwear as she spoke. Shortly they sat side by side, feet in the pool, enjoying the night and their solitude. They heard only the soft plashing of the waterfall feeding the pool and, somewhere away off in the jungle, the regular call of Fantasy Island's night crier. The tranquility soothed them both.

"This is my idea of heaven," Christian murmured presently. "Here in the night, all alone with you…I can't think of any other place on earth I'd rather be." He turned her head to face him and kissed her softly. "Welcome to the year 2000."

"Nice to be here," Leslie said jokingly, shifting on the rock so that she sat looking directly at him. "I really do wish we could stop time—then you'd never have to leave."

Christian winced, muttered a resigned curse in _jordiska_ and shook his head. "Don't remind me," he said. "We have this night and this place. Let's make it ours." He hitched himself closer to her, knees partly drawn up and a foot planted on either side of her, till she was close enough for him to cradle her head and kiss her again. But in this one, there was a message that Leslie got all too easily. Something inside her melted to liquid heat, and anticipation flowed through her, making her response to his kiss particularly avid.

Christian's hands left her face and began to caress, seeking out places he'd never dared go before. Leslie was wearing a white satin halter dress that left her back bare, and his hands on her skin kicked up an intense need, of the sort she'd nearly forgotten existed. She tugged his shirt out of his slacks and slid her own hands inside, exploring his back, all but drowning in him. Christian's moan, deep in his throat, told her what it was doing to him. His fingers found the knot that held the halter around her neck and began to play with it, just as his mouth left hers.

"Leslie, my darling," he groaned, voice raspy with need. "Let me, please, just once…just once."

She simply had to know. They had never really seen each other, not really touched nor learned the feel of each other, and she couldn't wait anymore. "Please," she murmured, "touch me, Christian."

He stilled. "You're not stopping me?"

The only sign of Leslie's faint nervousness was her swallow, quiet but still audible in the near-silence of the lagoon. "I got permission," she whispered.

"Permission!" blurted Christian aloud.

Leslie, startled, groaned. "Oh, spoil it, you fool," she said in mock disgust. "Do I have to spell it out for you, or do you think you can decipher the hint?"

Christian studied her, a smile very slowly blooming on his face. "So you'll not be dealing with your noisy conscience then, my Leslie Rose?"

"No conscience," Leslie assured him. Just to underscore her meaning, she deliberately began to free buttons from the holes in his shirt, one at an agonizing time.

Christian kissed her again, deftly pulled out the knot at her nape and let his hand stray inside the satin, brushing against hers as she continued undoing buttons. His very intimate touch lit a fire in her, eliciting a gasp that he absorbed in their kiss.

Nothing stopped them then. Slowly they removed each other's clothing, pausing each time to explore newly revealed territory with questing, sometimes trembling hands. Eventually they stood up to complete this final phase of their first real exploration of each other, and Christian led her off the rock and onto a patch of long grass.

"It's your last chance," he warned her quietly. "Stop now or go on—but I can't be responsible for my actions no matter which choice you make. I want you, Leslie, it's as simple as that. I've wanted you for ages, and I have very little control left now."

Leslie met his gaze and spoke carefully, knowing she was passing the point of no return in so doing, and looking forward to what was ahead. "I'm going to spoil you for any other woman, ever," she informed him in a faintly shaky whisper. "I'll see to it that you belong only to me, no matter what. You'll never be able to forget me." Neither knew at that moment just how prophetic those last seven words would become in the days to follow; they only knew each other and this insatiable, undeniable need that drove them both nearly mad.

Christian let out one loud groan and kissed Leslie yet again, simultaneously driving her flush against him so that she had no way of mistaking just how badly he wanted her. The shock of his heat against her made her cry out and cling to him as if for her very life. Christian pressed his advantage and began to explore her again, only this time with his mouth instead of his hands.

Leslie lost all awareness of everything around her: all she knew was his hands and his mouth on her body, building a fire inside her that had begun to consume her. All her years of being alone, and of waiting patiently for Christian's freedom, had taken a greater toll on her than even she had suspected; and the celibacy of Christian's loveless, politically-arranged business match, added to many years of widowhood, destroyed the last shreds of any self-control he'd ever had. In only minutes, they were one.

His moan as he entered her carried a note of utter fulfillment, a sense of having come home. Primality took over; when he spoke at all, it was a grunt in his native tongue. Leslie's only sounds were her feverish gasping and an occasional breathy cry.

And then she soared in his arms, her last cry a call of his name, rising in pitch. "Chris…ti…aaaaaaan…!" She thought she screamed it, but in reality it was a soft, ecstatic cry of joy that only he would have heard even if there had been others within earshot.

The sound undid him and he followed her ascent right then and there with a half-strangled cry, then a moan of repletion. Panting heavily and clutching each other, they sat with her straddling his lap, still joined, rocking gently back and forth.

In time they came to themselves and drew back to study each other with wonder. "My Leslie Rose," Christian murmured finally. "All my dreams had nothing on reality."

She smiled, worn out but feeling safe, protected, and most of all, loved. "Sometimes reality beats fantasy by miles," she agreed softly. "I don't know any words that would really describe how I felt just now, how I feel right this minute—all I know is how very much I love you."

"My darling," said Christian brokenly and gathered her in as close as he could, fiercely hugging her. Leslie felt him trembling with the force of his grip on her and returned the embrace in kind, closing her eyes, contented.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- January 2, 2000

Roarke and Leslie stood together at the dock on Sunday morning, Leslie trying to resign herself to the resumption of the long wait, Roarke watching her. When she met his gaze, he smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Are you still wondering about Christian's mood yesterday?" he asked.

"It wasn't so different from mine," said Leslie, "since we knew this moment was coming. But we had our week together at least." Still, as her voice trailed away, her mind turned uneasily to Christian's strange demeanor. Throughout New Year's Day he had been reticent, increasingly withdrawn and grim, and his eyes had been filled with sorrow every time he looked at Leslie. Was he so dreading their resumed separation?

Roarke nodded, and it was then that a station wagon pulled up and discharged Christian and Anna-Kristina. The princess stepped out ahead of her uncle and clasped Roarke's hands. "I'm so grateful for the interlude you allowed us," she said. "It gave me some time to think about things, and to gather my courage. Maybe I'll never be rid of amakarna, but at least I can stand up to my father about the throne and Asgar, since I know Uncle Christian is behind me. I truly appreciate all you've done."

"I am afraid that in reality I could do very little, but you are nonetheless very welcome, Anna-Kristina. Keep us informed," Roarke suggested. She nodded, then turned to Leslie and hugged her. In that moment Roarke noticed Christian's odd, slightly hunched stance, the inexplicably haunted look in his eyes as he stared at Leslie. They would need a few extra minutes alone for a farewell, he thought.

Anna-Kristina went off to board the plane, and Roarke bid Christian a safe trip before stepping back some distance. One of the natives approached him then with a question, distracting his attention altogether and leaving Christian and Leslie alone for all intents and purposes.

Christian paused in front of Leslie and drew in a deep breath that shuddered noticeably. "Well, I'm afraid this is goodbye," he said quietly.

"Just for a while," said Leslie, stubbornly refusing to let him get maudlin. "You'll be back, we both know it."

For the first time Christian looked squarely into her eyes, and she got the full brunt of the pain that gleamed from his. "No, my Leslie Rose, I mean…it has to be goodbye."

The way he said it made her tense and stare warily at him. "I don't understand."

He shook his head and looked away. "This week was the happiest I've ever known, and I'll always have the memory to fall back on when I need it. I thank you for that."

"Christian—" Leslie stilled and felt herself chill abruptly with creeping realization. "You're giving up! You're saying goodbye _forever,_ aren't you?"

Christian closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, I am…"

She panicked. "Why? We always told each other it was just a matter of time, that something would happen…Christian, for God's sake, _why?"_

Anguish joined the agony in Christian's eyes as he grasped her arms and tried to explain. "Leslie, my darling, look at the situation! It was easier to wait when we first learned of my proxy marriage and Marina thought she would be dead in a few years. We had a chance then. Now both she and the count have benefited from a cure, and for all I know they'll both outlive us. He'll never let anything change because he wants the social status he thinks he's gained by marrying his daughter into royalty. Arnulf won't give in because he needs that damn spice. Your father can't make it grow here for reasons over which he has no control. Leslie, don't you see? There's no alternate source; I'm not going to be widowed; and I can't get divorced. I'm permanently trapped!"

"But we chose to believe there'd be a solution one day," Leslie protested frantically. "How can you let go now?"

"It's not fair to you," Christian insisted. "If I have no hope of coming to you for good, then it only holds you back from meeting someone who can give you the love and the happiness and the kind of life you deserve. As long as I'm shackled to Marina, I can never do that. I'm forty-one years old, Leslie, and Arnulf is pestering me about children. I'm not getting any younger, and it's time I faced facts."

"I don't _want_ anyone else," Leslie cried. "Christian, I'm begging you—don't do this!"

"It's killing me, Leslie—I'm already dying inside, and I'll die a little more every day without you, but I must do it. I have to give you up because I'll never be free!" His voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut, wrestling with his emotions. "You must believe me when I tell you, my Leslie Rose, I'll love you for all my days. I love you now and I'll never stop loving you. But I just can't hold you back anymore, waiting for a change in this hopeless situation that will never come. Be well and safe always, my darling. I love you." Christian dropped a swift, hard kiss on her lips, released her and wheeled abruptly away, moving grimly towards the landing ramp.

"Please, Christian, _noooooooo!"_ Leslie wailed desperately.

He flinched so violently that she saw his body twitch, but he never broke stride nor even looked back. Stunned beyond words now, she stared helplessly after the retreating prince, till he swung through the seaplane's hatch and vanished from her sight; then she twisted away and hid her face in her hands.

Aboard the plane, Christian collapsed in his seat and sat in a heavy silence, struggling to compose himself. Anna-Kristina leaned over to eye him suspiciously. "I heard Leslie cry out," she said with a thread of accusation in her voice. "What did you do to her?"

"I set her free," replied Christian bleakly, still fighting for control.

"You what?" Anna-Kristina blurted, shocked. "Are you saying you're never going to see her again?"

"You know how things stand, Anna-Kristina," Christian shot back sharply. "There's no hope for us."

She vaulted out of her seat and glared down at him. "I can't believe you're doing something so stupid! Get back off this plane and tell her you made a mistake!"

"Excuse me, miss, you'd better sit down," one of the Polynesian attendants then broke into her tirade in _jordiska_. "We're about to taxi out to sea."

She stared at him, then at Christian, whose expression had gone studiously blank. "Uncle Christian!" she cried.

"Sit down, Anna-Kristina, _now,"_ he snapped icily.

Still glaring, she thumped back into her seat. "I don't understand what's wrong with you," she growled.

Christian's already-fragile control fell apart, and he turned a frigid yet pain-filled glare on his niece. "Can you think of a solution, then? Do you know of a way Leslie and I can be together? If so, you have about three seconds left to tell me what it is!" Her mouth dropped open, and he turned away as the plane cruised through the lagoon, letting his head fall against the window. His eyes at last filled with tears and spilled over, and he wondered if he could ever really be happy again. Leslie had been right: he would never forget her.

Left behind, Leslie stood there quaking, hands falling back to her sides, once more trying to adjust herself to this latest upheaval in her world. At her cry earlier, Roarke had turned in alarm; only seconds had passed, but to her it was a small eternity before he came to her and tucked her hands into his. "Leslie, what happened?" he demanded urgently.

"Christian…" she began, in a dazed, wobbling voice. "Father, he said goodbye!"

Something in her tone told him there was more to her last word than its face value indicated. "What do you mean, 'goodbye'?"

"He's given up on our ever being together," Leslie cried out, eyes wild. "He's told me goodbye forever, and I'll never see him again!"

Roarke's eyes widened with disbelief and shock, and he pulled her into a protective hug when he saw her legs begin to give out under her. Overhead the departing charter rose above the trees, and he watched it sail across the morning sky, beginning to slowly shake his head, once more visited with the sense that he'd somehow failed his daughter.

After a moment he regrouped and turned to her. "Come, child, let's go back home," he said gently. "We'll talk about it there, all right?" He didn't wait for her response; she didn't give one at any rate. He settled her into the car and gave the driver the go-ahead, then watched Leslie with concern the whole way back.

At the main house, Roarke put Leslie into a chair and took a seat in its twin, again taking her hand. She tightened her grasp on his hand immediately, as if he were a lifeline. "Tell me what he said," Roarke prompted, and Leslie did so, her voice a high, dazed monotone. When she finished, he found himself speechless. He had to admit to himself that Christian's decision was perfectly logical; it was clear that the young man had thought it through very carefully and reached the only conclusion he'd felt he could.

"Now I know why he was like that all week," Leslie mumbled. "I knew almost ever since our fight that there was something bothering him, but I thought he was just dreading the moment he had to go home. All day New Year's Eve, he found some reason to touch me or hold me. He said at the party that he sometimes thought nothing was ever going to change, and he sounded so bitter. When he asked to make love to me, he said 'just once'…" Her face contorted and she gulped back a sob with difficulty. "And then yesterday—he barely spoke all day and he looked so strange—he was leading up to this all along, wasn't he, Father?"

Roarke nodded reluctant confirmation, empathetic sorrow in his dark eyes. "He apparently felt it was the only thing he could do, sweetheart," he said softly. "All avenues of escape from the situation are closed off, and I believe he felt he was sacrificing his own happiness so that you could find some."

Leslie fell apart, her churning emotions finally boiling over. "I can't! Father, he's ruined me for anyone else. I can't possibly risk my heart yet again—I gave Christian everything I had. And now, just like everyone else, I've lost him too!"

"Leslie—" Roarke tried to interrupt.

But she was at the absolute end of her rope. "How much loss is one person expected to endure across a lifetime?" she shouted, less at Roarke than at fate itself. "When do I get to give up trying and failing? Where am I going to find that alleged inner strength now?" She heaved in a lungful of air and managed to focus on him. "I can't take it anymore, Father—I just _can't!"_ And with that, she pulled away from him and lurched to her feet, tearing out through the shutters at the same moment Rogan Callaghan came into the foyer. He was just in time to see her go.

"Ach, what on earth happened?" he exclaimed.

Roarke, already stricken, gave a start and instantly stood up. "Welcome, Rogan," he said, sounding very weary.

Rogan came down into the study. "Good morning, uncle, and Happy New Year. Julie asked me to bring over a room list. Is it prying to inquire as to what upset Leslie so?"

"No, I expect it will eventually come out anyway, even if only to those closest to Leslie. Christian left here with his niece not half an hour ago, and when he did, he broke off his relationship with Leslie. He evidently felt that his situation has him so thoroughly ensnared that there is no hope of his ever breaking free."

Rogan winced sharply and drew in a hissing breath through his teeth. "Ach! What a bloody horrible way to begin a new year!" He hesitated a moment. "You don't have any possible ideas to help her get past this, then?"

Roarke actually shrugged in defeat. "None, I'm afraid. My only hope is that this latest loss doesn't irrevocably break Leslie's spirit." He released a long breath and settled behind the desk. "That spice has touched nearly every life I have ever been deeply involved with, and always in some detrimental way. Had I the power to eliminate it and everyone's need for it…" He caught himself when he noticed Rogan watching him and carefully composed himself. "You said you have a room list?"

Rogan nodded and handed it to him. "I've some news as well. Julie's ready to resume full operation of the inn again, with Rory six weeks old now, and I thought I'd take a bit of a business trip. I need to expand my stock and I thought I'd look into growing saffron."

Roarke nodded back. "I wish you luck," he said, "and have a safe journey. You have Julie and Rory to think of."

Rogan smiled at that. "That I do, uncle, that I do. I'll have a progress report when I return, then—I'm sure the hotel and restaurant can use saffron too. I'll be departing on the noon charter."

When he was gone, Roarke sighed once again and shuffled through a pile of mail on the desk. One small, cream-colored envelope caught his eye and he paused, taking a careful look at the return address. His dark eyes lit with interest and he opened the envelope, pulling out the letter within and reading it. A slight smile lit his features just a little, and he glanced out the open shutters. Perhaps, just perhaps, this would change things, one way or the other. He scrutinized his date book, made a couple of changes and notations, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.  
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**A/N:** _What does Roarke have in mind? Stick around and there will be answers in the next story…_


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